


Walking Bass Line

by Ellie5192



Series: A Little Light Music [1]
Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pre-ship, WIP, canon-friendly, my first MC fic, prompt: scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:00:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie5192/pseuds/Ellie5192
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“She’d like to know exactly how she ended up flat on her arse in the middle of an empty alley with a gun in her face.”</p><p>Sharon finds herself in trouble, and Andy finds he doesn't mind carrying her handbag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walking Bass Line

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Scars. First in (what I know is going to turn into a) Raydor/Flynn series, because this is me and there are prompts. Pre-ship WIP. One-shot. Can stand alone.   
> Dedicated to akachankami, who asked so nicely.

**_Walking Bass Line_ **

 

She’d like to know exactly how she ended up flat on her arse in the middle of an empty alley with a gun in her face. She’d like to know why her people broke their cover to pursue the suspect they were covertly cornering. She’d like to know what the hell she fell on that is now digging into her back through her Kevlar. 

She sees the finger twitch on the trigger, and hears a shot. 

She’s not dead. 

Pushing herself up onto her elbows, she eyes the body of her would-be murder, sprawled not two feet from her, his eyes wide open, the gun still in his hand. Footsteps run up from behind her, stopping near her shoulder as he crouches on one knee next to her.

“Captain. You alright?”

She looks up into his frantic eyes, both of them breathing heavily. 

“Andy” she breathes, acknowledging him, looking wildly between him and the body. 

“You hurt?” he asks, his tone reassuringly calm but eyes scanning every inch of her. 

“Just my dignity” she answers, holding out her hand for him to help her up. He stands and grabs her hand, the other on her elbow as he hoists her to her feet. She doubles over, clutching her opposite side, hissing under her breath. The grip on her elbow tightens fractionally. 

“And my ribs” she amends, straightening gingerly. 

“Broken?” he asks. 

“Well I certainly hope not”

He smirks at her, and she knows it’s all fine.

Sykes and Sanchez round the corner, running towards them.

“They’re okay” says Sanchez into his radio as he approaches, no doubt informing Provenza from where he sits around the corner in the undercover car. He kneels down by the body, though with a shot straight through the heart they all know the prognosis. “Lane’s dead” he says simply, fingers lingering on the neck.

“Captain, are you alright?” asks Sykes as she reaches them, noticing the way she’s holding her side. Andy’s hand is still on her elbow. 

“I’m fine” she says. 

“She needs to have her side looked at- she fell on that canister pretty hard, might have cracked a rib” says Andy, gesturing to the rubbish she fell into on the alley floor.

“It’s bruised at most” she insists, waving them off, though she doesn’t push his hand off her arm. 

“Your rules” says Sanchez with a sideways nod of his head, turning away to call in a paramedic and FID. 

“Oh I’m so looking forward to this” she mutters under her breath, rolling her eyes. 

“Said the pot to the kettle” says Andy, grinning at her sarcastic tone. 

“Let’s just say my replacement is not as much fun as me” she replies cryptically with a derisive smirk.

“Great” he replies, rolling his own eyes, his hand still not letting go of her elbow.

It’s not long before the ambulance arrives, and while they’re preparing the dead body on a gurney, the paramedics take a quick look at her ribs. The rest of their team had left soon after FID had arrived, on her orders, and only she and Andy remain at the scene, having been directly involved in the incident. She had asked Andy to help her get rid of the flack vest, and when the paramedic gets her to sit on the back step of the ambulance he takes the hem of her shirt and rolls it slowly up. She sees Andy wince out of the corner of her eye, and can feel a deep purple bruise already forming along the soft tissue of her lower back. She hisses as the paramedic pokes her side, rolling the shirt to sit just under her breasts to check the rest of her back.

She’s too focused on the cold fingers on her skin to notice Andy’s wondering gaze, or the confused look that crosses his face when he notices an old scar running the length of her other side. It’s thin, white and faded, and most of the time she forgets it’s even there.

After a moment she registers his scrutiny, though he quickly looks away, and she ignores the questioning look. She feels somewhat subconscious over her midriff being exposed to him, but then she’s had two children; modesty takes on a new meaning when semi-strangers stare at your bits all over for hours on end.

“I’d like you to go in for an x-ray” says the paramedic, rolling her shirt down. “Nothing’s outright snapped, but I’d like to check for minor fractures just in case”

“Fine” she sighs, standing up, adjusting her shirt gingerly, eyeing the gurney full of body-bag and then the back of the ambulance. “But I’m not riding with a dead murderer”

Andy smirks despite himself. “I’ll take you in”

“We have to give our statements to FID first”

Andy rolls his eyes at her, but nods his acquiescence, flicking his hand in a dismissive fashion. He takes hold of her elbow again when her step falters, and they walk side by side over to the young FID officers who remember their old boss with fondness. The ease and trust between them makes the whole process run smoother than it ever has for Andy, and for the first time he’s thankful to have her calming presence there. Evidently the unpleasant person she was expecting to be there didn’t show up.

Their statements are given promptly and efficiently, and before long they’re strapping themselves into Andy’s car so he can take her to the hospital for her x-rays. She winces against the movement when she goes to put her belt on, and he wordlessly reaches for it and buckles it for her. She thanks him softly, genuinely touched that he’s being so attentive, and wondering where this care is coming from.

A couple of hours later she’s sitting on an emergency bed, the curtain pulled closed. He had insisted on coming in with her, after checking that it wasn’t overstepping, and he’s standing next to her bed when her shirt is again rolled up. The bruise is starting to swell and look angry. She knows it’ll be every shade of purple and yellow by morning.

Andy again notices the scar down her side when the portable x-ray is brought in to her cubicle, but he says nothing, and she rolls her eyes at the apparent intimacy of the moment. It’s ridiculous, really, that he’s being so attentive and yet so reserved. She won’t break, and she’s certainly not dying, and though they’ve come to respect each other- maybe even like each other- she doesn’t expect him to tend to her all night.

“You don’t have to stay, you know” she says for what feels like the hundredth time.

“I told you I’m staying, and I’m staying” he says stubbornly, practiced, his arms folded where he’s standing out of the nurse’s way. The young woman merely grins, having heard the same exchange all night, and excuses herself to take the x-rays to be developed. Sharon nods, and rolls her top down, hissing as her top catches. Andy steps in and helps, wordlessly pulling her top down, his fingers lingering just briefly over the bottom end of the long scar. The touch is feather-light, but just hesitant enough that she notices, and she thinks it’s sweet that he’s curious, even if he’d never dare ask.

“Horse riding accident” she says dismissively, pulling her long sleeves up to her elbows for comfort, gingerly swinging her legs over the side of the bed, mindful of pulling at her side. “I came off right into some barbed wire fencing when I was eighteen. There’s another on my leg, not as long”

He’s still standing right next to her bed, almost leaning into her legs now that she’s moved. She looks up at him through her glasses, unperturbed at having shared a personal story, though that’s not the norm for them. She notices their proximity, but isn’t fazed, and if he’s aware that there’s not even a foot between them, he’s comfortable enough not to move. He’s scrutinising her, weighing up what it means that she’s shared this with him, and that she’s not mad for his noticing in the first place. She personally doesn’t think it’s very important or memorable, but his expression shifts just slightly, and she thinks maybe she’s wrong. Before she has time to figure out what his look means, he is lightly smirking, the familiar expression a surprising comfort to her.

“I didn’t know you could horse ride” he says mischievously.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Lieutenant” she teases back. She had a naughtier line to use, but doesn’t want him choking on his own tongue.

“I’m sure”

She grins at him, and then turns serious, considering him. He shifts his weight, and then turns and perches himself on her bed next to her, thighs not quite touching, but not too far apart either. They are quiet for a long moment.  

“I haven’t thanked you for saving my life tonight, Andy”

Her tone is whisper-soft and endearingly earnest and he’d almost forgotten, between checking on her and giving FID statements, that she’d been laying in an alley a few short hours ago with a trigger-happy sociopath wielding a gun in her face. The vivid memory sends a chill up his spine, and he looks down to his hands in his lap. It never gets easier, and the movies lie when they say that a cop becomes accustomed to facing death. It never becomes normal. Learning the proper coping mechanisms and casually brushing away a near-death experience are two very different things; they both know that.

“Don’t mention it, Captain. All part of the job”

“It is” she concedes, her voice light and airy in that way she has. “But even so. Thank you, Lieutenant, for saving my life”

He risks a glance at her, and her eyes are glassy but clear, bearing into him with gratitude. He looks down and pats her hand where it rests on the space of bed between them. Turning her palm up, she gives his hand a brief squeeze with hers, her lips pursing with emotion when he meets her gaze again. The nurse comes around the curtain, the doctor trailing behind her, her x-rays held lightly in his hand. Andy gets off the bed to give her space with the medical personnel, and her eyes follow him for a moment before looking expectedly at the doctor.

“No fractures” he says with a smile. “You’re lucky”

“Am I what” she says, letting out a breath of relief with a smile.

“You’ll be a bit tender for the next week, ten days, but if you keep the ice going for the next two days, heat for two days after that, the pain should ease up. There’s likely some minimal bruising internally too, so just be mindful of that- take over-the-counter pain relief as per instructions if you need them. Other than that, there’s not much more I can do for you here”

“Thank you” she says, standing, tugging at the hem of her top, returning the kindly smile the doctor gives her.

“No problem, Captain. Tash here will get your discharge papers sorted. Try not to run into any bad guys though, hey? At least until that swelling eases up”

“I’ll do my best” she says with a grin.

“I’ll keep her out of trouble, Doc” says Andy, standing with his arms casually folded off to the side, a lazy smirk on his face.

“Good to hear. Take care”

The doctor excuses himself as the nurse hands her the necessary paperwork to fill in before she leaves. She tries not to dwell on Andy’s passing comment, innocent as it was, and has to fight a grin over how protective her team has been of her this evening. She thinks maybe she’s finally, truly, one of them, reluctant though the shift has been.

She signs the last of the paperwork, and Andy wordlessly holds up her jacket for her to slide her arms into, bringing it around her and pressing lightly into her shoulders as she uses one hand to flick her hair out of the collar.

“Thank you” she mumbles lightly.

He doesn’t say anything, but picks up her handbag and doesn’t pass it to her, and she wants to protest, but after everything else tonight she knows she won’t win, so she lets him be. He leads her out of the emergency room, his hand not quite touching the small of her back, and doesn’t say anything when he pulls out of the carpark and points the car in the direction of her condo. She’s not surprised he knows her address- he’s a detective, and she did have to fill out one thousand forms- but she smiles anyway, and thinks she might even let him walk her to the door, and invite him in for a cup of coffee. It’s the middle of the night, and he was good enough to stay many hours with her in the E/R. Coffee is the least she can do.

She doesn’t analyse what it means that she wants the night to linger. She almost died tonight, after all; who can blame her for wanting some company while she digests that reality. She thinks Andy must understand that, because when they pull up to her home, he’s out of the car and around to her door, opening it for her before she can protest, and taking her handbag from her again.

She smiles somewhat sheepishly at him, whispering her thanks, and he doesn’t make a deal out of it, so she doesn’t either.

Yes, she thinks. Coffee would be perfect. 


End file.
